


Dancing Lessons

by breathtaken



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon Era, Dancing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos teaches Constance to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bowyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowyer/gifts).



Constance looks around the space cleared in the centre of her kitchen, and smoothes the front of her best dress self-consciously, a thrill running through her at the prospect of what they're about to do.

Athos is unbuckling his sword belt and laying it on the kitchen table in its temporary position under the window. He straightens and turns to face her; and despite his unkempt hair and beard and the bags under his eyes, at that moment he looks every inch the gentleman.

"Have you done this before?" he asks, leaning back onto the edge of the table.

"No. Well, a few country dances, when I was a girl," she amends. "But I'm sure that's not the same."

The few country dances she was allowed to attend in the short time between coming of age and marrying had been raucous things, more gay skipping than dignified stepping, and where boys' hands sometimes wandered if you didn't stay alert. They were nothing like the tales the other girls used to tell of the fine lords and ladies at court, light of foot and always grand. Their highest ambitions then were to become ladies-in-waiting to Her Majesty, and maybe one day to observe these fine lords and ladies themselves.

They had all dreamed of that great future, Constance not excluded, even though the other part of her imagination had always secretly wished to wield a sword or a  musket and have the kind of adventures that her brothers aspired to.

The corner of Athos' mouth twitches. "Maybe not quite."

"We'll start with the minuet," he continues. "If you're to learn one dance it should be this, and it's a dance for two people, which makes it easy for us to learn together. It's based on a six-count step, and once you've mastered that then I'll take you through the sequences.

"While I'm no dancing master, hopefully I can teach you enough that you'd be able to conduct yourself confidently at a dance."

"Sounds good," she replies, trying to keep her enthusiasm in check, though she can feel it threatening to spill over already. "Where do I start?"

He steps forward to meet her. "Take my hand," he instructs, holding his arm out at waist height, palm up. Constance lays her own palm on top as she imagines they do at court, and is gratified when he makes no attempt to adjust it. Athos' hand is warm and dry, and she thinks she can feel the calluses of a swordsman.

"We'll start with the step, just travelling forwards until you're ready for something more. Okay?"

She nods. "As I'll ever be."

"Okay." They turn to face the same way, and she concentrates on keeping her back straight and her head up, as if she were a queen in her own right. "Turn your feet out slightly. Remember, the step's made up of six counts. First count, step forward with the right foot."

She looks down reflexively at the sight of their two feet moving together along the wooden floor.

"Now bring the left foot to close, but don't put your weight on it, just put the ball of your left foot to the floor, and _plié_ ," Athos instructs as he brings his other foot forward and bends deep at the knee, and she tries to copy what she's seeing. "It's called a _demi-coupé_. That's the second count. Then step with the left foot. Now two steps on the balls of your feet. Right, left. And for the last count, lower the left foot fully to the floor as you bring the right foot to close and _demi-coupé_."

_Lower the left foot, right foot to close, demi-coupé,_ she repeats in her mind as she mirrors Athos' movements.

"That's the step. Now once more: right, left and _demi-coupé_ , left, right, left, right and _demi-coupé_."

They're still moving very slowly, but this time fluidly and in unison. _I'm dancing,_ Constance thinks giddily.

"Have you got it?"

"I think so," she replies.

"That's great. Let's turn and walk back the other way, and this time I'll just give you the six counts aloud. If you get lost, watch my feet."

Constance turns and takes Athos' other hand, and steps back along the length of her kitchen with him as he counts aloud. She has to concentrate pretty hard to get it right, and notices a series of little faults – she takes a full step once or twice when she should be on her toes, she doesn’t come out of the _demi-coupé_ in time – but as they reach the window she's glowing with pride all the same.

She watches Athos' feet as instructed, and envies the way that even in his heavy boots he seems to be gliding across the floor. Even though she'd never imagined him _dancing_ , now that she's seen it, she would swear he was born to it. 

They end up walking up and down the length of the kitchen five or six times before she feels like she's starting to get the hang of the step, performing it from memory rather than just from copying Athos. It feels very artificial, which she hadn't expected; a strange mix of deep knee bends and stepping on her toes which bears no relation to walking, or to anything else she's ever done.

"Where did you learn this?" she asks, curious. She can't exactly see him having chosen to grace a ballroom.

"I had a dancing master when I was growing up. Just for the basics, so I wouldn't embarrass myself at court."

"You went to court?" She can't help sounding surprised.

"Rarely," he replies shortly. "But as you're making conversation, I assume that you've got this and you're ready to move onto the sequences."

She can tell he's trying to divert her attention from asking about his apparent noble upbringing; but she nods her assent all the same, not wanting to force a confidence. "Yes, let's."

She quickly realises that the sequences are more complicated than she expected: not only does she have to follow Athos' instructions regarding where she should walk, but she also has to do the step to both sides, slot her second foot in front and not behind, and always lead with the right foot no matter the direction they're travelling, which is probably the hardest part.

After a few false starts from trying to take everything in at once, she stops paying attention to where Athos is leading her or trying to commit any of the sequences to memory, and instead just concentrates on reacting to his instructions and stepping correctly.

As she slowly starts to relax and ease into the dance, she sneaks a glance at Athos' face; and though he's nothing more than a friend, here and now, with the air of refinement and ease that their dancing has leant him, she could easily see him as one of the tall and handsome men of her childhood fancies. She wonders if she's seeing a glimpse of who he was before he came to Paris, before whatever makes him drink.

If it's still in there, then maybe it can be drawn back out into the light.

As they finish the sequence, and bow and curtsey to each other, her joy bubbles out of her like a fountain in midsummer.

"How did I do?"

"Very well, especially considering we don't have any music," he replies, something soft and pleased-looking in his expression. "You're picking it up more quickly than I expected."

He pauses for a moment, considering. "So much so that after a few more sessions like this one I think you'd be ready for a dance."

"My husband would never take me to a dance," she replies, looking at the floor, and trying to hide her sudden embarrassment. As if Jacques would do something for her just because she wanted it. As if she could afford a suitable dress. As if he would be willing to let her dance with other men.

Athos clasps her hand. "Constance," he says softly, and she reluctantly meets his eyes. "It would be my honour to accompany you. If Monsieur Bonacieux would not object, of course."

"Never mind him," she replies mischievously, heart suddenly soaring again.

Monsieur Bonacieux _would_ object, and Athos knows that very well; but one of the things she likes about him is that his honour doesn't extend to not pretending otherwise, and being willing to take her along anyway.

"He doesn’t have to know."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm indebted to [Colin Hume](http://www.colinhume.com/dtminuet.htm) for his web page on the minuet step.


End file.
